C2H5OH
by AdequateLexicon
Summary: Alfred hosts a drinking party at his house. Everyone finds out who exactly can and cannot hold their liquor. Contains USxUK, GerIta, GreeceXJapan, and RussiaxChina. Also, France gets some too. xD
1. Chapter 1: Icewine

**1. Icewine**

Matthew hummed to himself nervously as he waited for Alfred to answer the door. He was excited-probably more so than was nessacary-because Alfred rarely, if ever, invited Matthew to any of his parties. Now, for the first time, he would finally be attending one! _'Well,' _he thought to himself,_ 'it isn't really what you'd call a party,' _but he shook the thought out of his mind, because to him it was a party, or at the very least it was the closest thing he would get to have to one for a long time.

To his shock and mild horror, Francis opened the door. It was a shame, really-being neighbors, Matthew had thought he would have been the first one there. But he wasn't, not by a long shot. In fact, he realized that he was actually the last one to arrive. Holding the slender bottle of icewine in his hand, he looked at Francis and gave him what he hoped was a smile. "Hello," he said, his voice sounding meek and quiet as it always did, "I'm here for Alfred's party. I brought icewine." Francis gave him a smirk that, for whatever reason, Matthew found ominous in nature. "Who is it?" called Alfred from inside the house. "It's Matthew," Francis called back. There was silence, then: "I invited Matthew? Oh well! Tell him to come inside already!" Matthew didn't wait for further prompting and walked inside the house.

The first thing he noticed was that, as usual, the smell of grease was in the air. He tried not to wrinkle his nose, but he did. He couldn't help it; his house was just so much, well, _cleaner. _Everything from his garden to his medical cabinent was in tip-top condition. But, then, Alfred honestly didn't have to have a clean house. People still visisted, and regardless he was the kind of person you either loved or hated. Being his brother, Matthew was often unsure which of these categories he fell into. Most of the time it was both, he decided. He joined everyone else in the circle. He looked around: starting at Alfred, it went Arthur, Ivan, Wang, Honda, Feliciano, Ludwig, and presumably Francis-because only Francis would bring a monogrammed pillow to sit on. Though he suspected the floor was filthy like all of Alfred's belongings, even Matthew wouldn't have gone so far as to bring something to sit on.

"Hey, bro!" Matthew jumped a little at this greeting. "Hello," he replied back, almost whispering the word. "You can sit by me," Alfred said, patting a spot between himself and Francis's pillow. Though Matthew didn't particuarly want to sit next to Francis for any reason or any extended period of time, he did as he was told. He didn't want to argue. "I brought icewine," he said, holding the bottle. It had already began to melt a bit. Alfred tended to keep his house warm, though it generally depended on what part of the house you were in. They were in the living room, all seated in a circle next to the couch, which meant that the temperature was mild-not too hot, not too cold. But for Matthew it felt much hotter than he was used to. "That's great! Go put it in the freezer, it's meant to be kept cold, right?" Though the wine was served cold, he didn't want the wine to be forgotten in Alfred's freezer, especially since he had taken great care to select a quality icewine, rather than something cheap. Still, once again he did as he was told.

After he had returned from Alfred's kitchen, Francis had already sat down, and Matthew had to squeeze in a bit between him and Alfred, which he found highly uncomfortable, though then again he was highly squeamish. Everybody was making light conversation, which made Matthew even more uncomfortable, because light conversation was not something he excelled at. He decided to pour himself a shot from whatever was in the clear, umarked bottle. _'Funny,' _he thought, _'how it looks like water.' _He poured the mysterious liquid into a shot glass that he had brought from home, and before he could register Ivan saying, "No! Stop, you can not handle that!", he had already downed the drink.

It tasted vaugely like lemonade, he thought to himself. Maybe he could handle this. "You keep your hands off of my vodka, da?" Ivan continued to shout at him even though he had no intention of drinking any more of Ivan's disgusting alcohol. His icewine was much better. But because Ivan was still shouting, Matthew decided to pour himself another shot. He downed it quickly. "You are going to be knocked off your ass, little bro!" said Alfred, laughing at the prospect. Matthew just looked at him, directly in the eyes-which was rare for him. "I can handle it," he said, whispering slightly louder than he normally did. "I am going to be just fine."

About an hour later, Matthew could not feel his tounge. In point of fact, he could not feel much of _anything_-but he noticed his tongue in particular because he was trying so hard to use it. As a result, his voice was softer than ever, and he continued to go unnoticed. Everyone was chatting and sampling each others' alcohol, but no one listened to him. _'Invisible, I am invisible once again-' _he thought, but he interrupted his own inner monologue with a groan that he was unable to tell whether or not it was internal or external. He felt like his entire body was numb. Was it the whatever-Ivan-had-drink? Since it was Ivan, he decided that it had to be vodka. Vodka! No wonder he felt so bad. What on earth had possesed him? Matthew knew that even beer had the tendency to get him plastered, usually after only one drink. He began to feel worse, perhaps because he had convinced himself that he was going to die.

_'This must be why Alfred calls me a lightweight.' _He laughed and laughed like he had said something hilarious, though he knew that he had not. In fact, he didn't know for sure whether or not he was speaking or thinking or both of them at once. "Everything feels funny," he meant to say, but it came out slurred beyond recognition. "It is not normal to be that drunk after two shots," said Ivan, or maybe it was Ludwig-Matthew wasn't sure, and he really didn't care. "Hey, doesn't it take, like, an hour for someone to get drunk? Poor Matthew looks hammered!" Ivan shrugged. "It has been an hour. Frankly, I thought he would have died by now." Ivan's rather discouraging statement did not help Matthew's mental state.

Matthew noticed that the edge of his vision began to grow blurry. "Hey, what's going on?" he asked no one in particular, and he knew that in all likeliehood his speech was not understandable, and that even if it were it would most likely go unnoticed. He felt a warm tingly sensation all over, and then everything went black.


	2. Chapter 2: Merlot

**2. Merlot**

Francis had been enjoying a pleasant conversation with Arthur-or, rather, _he _had found the conversation pleasant, while Arthur had given him dirty looks and asked numerous times to be left alone-when he heard a lound _thud _that had jolted him out of his conversation. "What was that?" he asked. He looked to his left, where he had heard the sound. He glanced at the floor. Where most people would see someone who had consumed far too much alcohol-which was two shots in Matthew's case-Francis saw a golden oppurtunity. Another golden oppurtunity was that everyone appeared to be occupied. It wasn't so much that their attention would have quelled him any, but that their lack of attention gave him much more time to grab his bottle of merlot that he had brought and find a spare bedroom, which Alfred seemed to have plenty of.

With all of the subtelty of a streaker at a football game, Francis snatched up his unopened bottle of wine and tossed Matthew's body over his left shoulder. "Hey!" Francis didn't turn around to hear where the exclamation came from. He just tried to find a staircase so that he could be alone upstairs-well, not entirely alone, if he had anything to do with it. "You're going to rape Matthew, aren't you?" Only Alfred would use such vulgar words. Rape was a particuarly harsh one. A better one was _ravissement_-it was in French, for one thing, a language he considered to be far superior to any other. Another plus was that it was a word with many connotations. One of them was _rape_, as Alfred had pointed out, but others were _ecstacy, rapture, ravishment_-if you wanted to stoop to the level of using English, which Francis tried not to do if it all possible.

"Sure darling, whatever you say!" Francis called to Alfred, as he was already up the stairs now. He ran into the first room he saw, which was a rather cramped room full of artsy, trendy furniture as well as a statue of a green woman holding a torch. His eyes lit up when he saw it. "Aw, he kept it!" he said, beaming, and with that he tossed Matthew's body onto the gray, boxy bed, happy to have a gift from himself as a captive audience.


	3. Chapter 3: Sake

Honda sat stoic while Alfred's shouts towards Francis on behalf of his brother fell upon deaf ears. He wasn't sure when the last time he had spoken that night was. Then again, he supposed that all in all it didn't matter. Honda had certainly been accused of being quiet in the past, after all. Matthew also suffered from this-and yet, Honda found himself completely different from Alfred's painfully antisocial little brother. The fact was, Honda chose to be quiet, whereas Matthew always seemed to resent being partially invisible. But being invisible was a skill Honda chose to embrace, when it suited him. For the most part, Honda pitied Matthew-perhaos now more than ever, since he was unconscious and alone with Francis. Honda shuddered at the prospect.

It was around this point that Honda felt, along with an uncanny buzzing sort of warmth, a bit of bravery. Not enough to do anthing wild-Honda was never wild-but certainly enough to socialize. 'Socialization is a good thing,' he thought to himself, 'and besides, I would hate to seem impolite for not participating in conversation.' So he decided to say something, just for the sake of saying it. "I hope the sake I brought has been satisfactory." He smiled-because he had gotten the sentence out in such a way that every syllable could be heard quite lucidly. If anything, he sounded more sober than ever. Little did anyone, including perhaps himself, know that his alcohol intake was about eight and a half bottles if you stopped to add it up. Alfred laughed. "Of course, dude! It's good stuff. I'm not usually one for rice wine or whatever, but yours is great."

Honda just smiled dumbly back. He realized that this was the second time in about a minute that he had smiled-at Alfred, no less. Honda rarely smiled at all. Perhaps he had had too much sake for his own good. Of course, the wine probably didn't help...this was Feliciano's fault, wasn't it? Why did he have to bring such good wine? And it was good wine, that much nobody could deny. Probably it was better than whatever Francis had brought, though no doubt that bottle and its contents were already long gone.

Honda looked at the basket that was in the middle of their informall circle. It was still full, for the most part of various bottles of beer and rum and other alcoholic beverages. They were no doubt lukewarm by now, but if anyone cared they didn't say anything. Two bottles of vodka were missing, though this was not Honda's fault as he avoided Ivan's vodka like the plague, especially since Matthew had passed out. In all likliehood, Ivan had drank them, or maybe Wang. There weren't any bottles of sake left, which was odd because he had brought ten bottles. 'Huh,' he thought, 'how odd.'

He looked around the room. Alfred had three bottles at his side, one that was three-fourths full and two that were three-fourths empty. Wang clutched a bottle of sake in his hand, one that he had probably taken to be polite. Wang was so odd lately. You would call him on Fridays and it would go to voicemail-whereas on every other day of the week he would invariably answer-and then you'd run into him Saturday and his breath would smell like vodka. But Honda shook all thoughts of Wang from his mind, and glanced behind him. His practice was to place each bottle behind him neatly after he had finished it. To his shock, he counted six. Six bottles! How was he even still upright? And of course this wasn't even counting the two and a half bottles of Feliciano's wine.

When he noticed that everyone else had consumed even more alcohol, he grew angry. He glared at Alfred and Arthur, who were both drinkiing heavily, and more so than he had. Then he glared at Wang and Ivan-especially Ivan, who for whatever reason was really irritating Honda, despite the fact that he probably hadn't spoken more than three words to him that night. Then, for good measure, he glared at Ludwig and Feliciano. Feliciano looked at him back, which Honda didn't expect because it was the first time somebody had responded to his silent glares. He noticed Feliciano look away and turn to Ludwig, whining quite audibly about feeling "stared at". Feliciano could be so annoying.

Suddenly, he felt a tap on his shoulder, which made him flinch. It was Wang. "Oh. Hello." Wang looked concerned. "Honda, you don't look too good, aru," he said, holding the back of his hand against Honda's forehead. "I'm fine," said Honda evenly. Wang just frowned. "Don't give me that, aru. I can tell when somebody is drunk, and you most certainly are."

At that moment, Honda snapped. He couldn't keep his demeanor, voice, or even temperament calm any longer. He started to shout. "I TOLD YOU. I AM FINE." He said the words 'I', 'am', and 'fine' like they were daggers that he was throwing at Wang with his voice. Wang looked visibly shaken. "I knew it, aru! I knew you were wasted! You need to go home now! I will drive you!" Ivan turned his head towards them. "What is going on over there?" "Nothing, you nosy fatass. Keep out of this," snarled Honda. Despite the fact that he felt eerily close to meeting his demise, it felt oddly good to say. Surprisingly, Wang seemed more offended than Ivan. "Aiyaaaa! Ivan is not fat! He's big boned, aru!" Alfred began to snicker at this. "Oh, I just bet he's big-boned. And you would know all about that, wouldn't you now?" Wang went red all over. "No! Yes! Wait, what? No! Not like that, aru!"

Alfred continued to laugh for a while, Arthur occasionally giving him the 'grow up' look, and then he finally stopped to face Honda. "Seriously man, I've never seen you this drunk before. Go ahead and let Wang drive you home. I don't want to see you end up like Matty." Honda scowled at Alfred. When he squinted his eyes, he began to see double, so he unscrunched them, only now the double vision wouldn't go away. Whatever, it wasn't a problem. Honda felt like he could take on anyone. So this was why people drank. "Look into my eyes, Alfred! Do I look drunk to you? Do I?" Alfred looked into his eyes for about a second, then nodded. "Yup! Especially since your eyes can't seem to focus and are crossing and uncrossing! Hey, that's kind of cool! Can you do that again?" Honda scowled again, which made his double vision worse and more pronounced. "Get out of my way! I'll leave, I don't care, whatever. I can walk home, I don't care." Alfred didn't seem to be moving, so he spoke even louder. "I said, get out of my way! Both of you!"

Everyone looked at him oddly. "Um, Honda? There's only one of me. Just like always." He laughed nervously. "Thank God for that," muttered Arthur. "I couldn't stand it if there were two of you." "More like, you couldn't stand. Like, upright I mean." Arthur's face went red. "You are such a wanker, I hope you choke.." he muttered, his sentence trailing off. Honda took the oppurtunity to storm out.

'I'll go to Heracle's,' he thought bitterly to himself. 'Yes, that will show them.' And that was the direction he headed off in.


	4. Chapter 4: Vodka

When the door slammed shut, Ivan was secretly somewhat glad. It wasn't so much that Honda threatened him-drunk or sober-but all in all it was better not to have someone around who seemed to be scrutinizing your every movement. Wang shook his head. "He's going to be so embarrased tomorrow, aru," he said, and everyone just nodded. It was common knowledge that Honda was painfully polite. When someone, whoever that would end up being, told him about how he had behaved, he would probably die of embarrasment. "What I didn't tell him is that I'm just as drunk as he is. Maybe more so, aru." Ivan glanced at Wang. He didn't seem to be particuarly intoxicated, though perhaps the symptoms were there and he just didn't notice. "Yeah, I'm pretty buzzed, too," said Alfred, though Ivan honestly doubted it. Alfred never seemed to suffer any negative consequences from drinking even when he was under the influence. "Is anyone not drunk?" asked Arthur. Ludwig shrugged, which Ivan realized was the closest thing to a response he could remember him giving all night.

"If I am drunk, I don't feel it." That was all Ivan really wanted to say on the matter. Whether or not he was an 'alcoholic', as he had been accused of several times in the past, was really not his concern. He wanted to drop the topic. Thankfully, no one really messed with him, and everyone seemed to be able to sense that this wasn't a topic that needed to be pressed. "I feel so...bubbly...is that, issit normal?" Feliciano's words were definitely slurred, and he had a light giggle at the end of his sentence. "You don't ever drink wine?" asked Arthur incredulously. "Notthismuch..no, andalso, I don't, I don't drink vodka, either. Or rum, thatstuffisstrong.." He laughed again at the end of his sentence. He didn't act like he was drunnk, he acted like he was high. Still, he wasn't screaming or passed out, so Ivan chose not to say anything since it wasn't his business.

"Well, I am just fine, aru!" declared Wang. Ivan just smiled. For whatever reason, everyone gave a collective shudder when he did this. "That's what Honda said, wasn't it?" Wang huffed. "I am not Honda, Ivan," he said, seeming offended. Was he joking or had he seriously been offended by Ivan's remark? "I know that, Wang. I was just kidding, da?" Wang seemed calmer at this. "Well, I just want everyone to know, I am nothing like Honda, is everyone clear on that, aru?" Everyone agreed that they were clear on that.

Of course, as Ivan often observed, Honda and Wang were genuinely different. While they weren't technically related, it was common knowledge that Wang had raised Honda. Nonetheless, they weren't identical, and they were actually quite easy to tell apart if you had even a clue as to who either one was. In point of fact, Alfred and Matthew were probably more alike than Honda and Wang, or at least that was how Ivan saw it. The two weren't twins, just brothers, but the latter was very often mistaken for the former. However, and almost everyone knew this but nobody ever said it, if there was one way Honda and Wang were alike-and, in actuality, there were certainly more ways than just one-it was the way they held their liquer, which is to say, not very well. Though neither would admit it, with enough alcohol they both had the tendency to turn into raging, screaming, bad-judgement messes.

And so, it wasn't too long before Wang began to show all of the symptoms. It had started when someone had made a passing comment about pandas. It probably wasn't even true, as the speaker (Feliciano) was also pretty intoxicated and could have just been speaking to hear himself talk. Just as likely was that it was true, because Feliciano was nothing if not cowardly. But when he said the phrase-"Pandas have always sorta freaked me out."-all hell broke lose.

"Aiyaaaa! How dare you speak that way about pandas, aru!" It wasn't so much that this was an atypical response. Ivan knew perfectly well that on any other day, Wang would have likely said the same thing. It was the inflection. That was what did it. His voice didn't cary mundane annoyance as it normally would have. It carried more of a, "I am about five seconds away from stabbing you!" Or, at least, that was how Ivan chose to see it. Maybe Wang wouldn't have phrased it that way. It didn't matter-the point was that he was seriously psycho-angry, when the situation didn't really call for it. "Calm down, Wang. You're acting crazy. Have some more vodka, that will help, da." Arthur gave him a look, the one that said, "Don't you dare give him any more to drink!" Ivan ignored it. "Vodka will make you better. Drink some, you will feel better, da?" But it turned out that Wang had been ignoring everyone.

"You will apologize to the pandas, aru!" exclaimed Wang. He picked up Alfred's coffee table over his head. At this point Feliciano began to scream. Tears were streaming down his face. "Please don't hurt me! I'm so sorry, Wang! I apologize! To you and the pandas! Please don't hurt me!" He had to choke out the words just so they could be understood. Ivan glanced at him with pity, but chose not to do anything.

Ivan certainly didn't know what was going through Wang's head when happened next happened, but regardless, it was unavoidable: One minute, he had been brandishing Alfred's coffee table, and the next he had thrown it at Feliciano's head. Thankfully, there was no blood, and the table stayed intact. Everyone stared at Wang with looks of horror on their faces-except for Ivan, whose face remained neutral; well, and Ludwig, who looked like he was about to beat Wang senseless.

"What exactly was that for?" asked Ludwig, his voice sounding eerily calm, but laced with steel. Wang's face melted from anger to confusion. "I don't, I don't, I don't even, k-know, aru," he said, his voice shaking. Ivan stood up. "He's drunk. Clearly, he doesn't know what he's doing. If I have to, I'll pay for his medical bills. He doesn't look hurt terribly." Ivan could certainly take Ludwig in a fight, he was sure of it, but he was less sure of how Wang would fare, especially when under the influence. Ludwig said nothing, just walked away towards where Feliciano was.

"M-maybe, maybe you ought to go home now," suggested Arthur with fear in his voice. Wang just looked dumbly at the pieces of wood. Wordlessly, Wang walked over to Feliciano. "I am sorry, aru. I don't know what came over me. I think it would be best if I left." Feliciano, to Ivan's amazement, just smiled. It was an idiot smile, the kind that had clearly forgotten who had just whacked him with a coffee table-a tiny one, but still. "Okay. You-you're not mad? You're not mad anymore?" Wang just shook his head, clearly confused and ashamed all at once. "I am sorry. It will not happen again, aru." Ivan could swear he heard Ludwig mutter, "Damn right it won't," but he ignored it. "Doesn't hurtmuch. It'sfine, everytthing. Beenhurt worse." His smile was so big that Ivan couldn't look at hit, so he turned his head.

Ivan walked over to Wang and tapped him on the shoulder. "I will take you to my house. You can't drive like this, da?" Wang just looked around. "I, well-" There was no denying that he was unable to drive, especially considering his temper. To his shock, Wang smiled. "It'll be fun. Like, a sleepover, aru." Whatever had gotten into Wang, Ivan liked. Maybe he just wanted to forget what had happened.

Alfred glanced at Wang. "It's alright," he said, showing uncharacterisitic maturity. "No one's mad at you. But seriously, don't you dare go to Ivan's place and drink more vodka. Man, you're gonna hurt yourself." Everyone laughed at this, despite it's lack of humor. Even Ludwig laughed. More uncharacteristic behavior. Maybe the alcohol was getting to everyone. "Will you be alright on the roads?" asked Arthur. "Don't worry, Ivan can drink and drive. I've barely had any. You can keep the vodka, and thanks for inviting me. I had a good time, da?" Ivan put his hand on Wang's shoulder, in part to keep him standing upright, before going to Alfred's door to leave the party much earlier than he ever had before.


	5. Chapter 5: Beer

Insanity. That was what this whole thing was. Plain and simple. Why he had even decided to go to Alfred's party was beyond him. It wasn't like they ever turned out to be enjoyable or memorable experiences-well, memorable perhaps, but never in a pleasant way. It was just that when he had gotten the invitation, he had been about to delete it, but then he had gotten a phone call and then he had chores that had needed to be done, and then Feliciano had asked if he was going or not and to make a long story short, he decided to go to Alfred's idiotic alcohol party.

It wasn't like anything good could have come out of a party where everyone spent their time getting drunk-but then, wasn't that all parties? He smirked at this realization, but only for a split second. Feliciano didn't seem hurt (he was back to singing quietly to himself and doing that uncanny thing where he talked and laughed almost simultaneously) but that didn't mean that Wang did was right or even excusable. And he would have taught him a lesson, too, if the damage had been more severe, or if Ivan hadn't decided to intervene. Ludwig could take Ivan, he was sure of it, but the fact was that he had no desire to fight, and even if he had, fighting Ivan would be long and cumbersome and, in short, unworthy of his time.

Still, the major point was that this alcohol party was getting out of hand. And he wanted to leave-he had put his coat on and muttered his goodbyes-when he noticed Feliciano tugging on the bit of fabric on his jacket's shoulder. "Don't leave, don'tleaveLudwig because then, then you wouldn't be here, beherewithme, and I would be alone." He had stretched out the word "alone" to at least four syllables. Ludwig felt his cheeks heat up, and hoped no one had noticed. "Alright, I guess I'll stay," he said evenly. Feliciano smiled broadly. "Yaaay~" he said, somehow slurring what was probably one of the easiest words to say. He wrapped his arounds around Ludwig for a few seconds, and then it ended just as quickly as it had began. "He's staying, he's staying!" he sang, making it a catchy tune rather than just a declarative statement.

Nevertheless, the mood was more somber than it had been. Despite Feliciano's blind happiness, Arthur just calmly sipped his rum, not saying anything, and even Alfred wasn't talking. It was then that Feliciano started singing a song, to fill the silence. "When I grew up and fell in love, I asked my sweetheart, what lies ahead?" Everyone stared at him. Ludwig vaugely remembered hearing the song in a cult classic that he had watched sometime in the 80s, one he couldn't recall the name of. He continued to sing. "Will we have rainbows, day after day?" For whatever reason, Arthur and Alfred seemed somewhat put off by this singing. Perhaps it was because it was a song typically sung by a girl, perhaps it was because he tripped over some of the words, perhaps it was because he sang it in a higher octave than most were used to hearing from a male. Regardless, Ludwig-and he would never admit this to anyone, least of all himself-found it to be hauntingly beautiful.

"Here's what my sweetheart said. Que sera, sera. Whatever will be, will be. The future's not ours to see. Que sera, sera." Everyone was silent. Feliciano then noticed everyone was looking at him. It was as if he had thought he was invisble. Finally: "Isn't that Spanish?" From Arthur. Feliciano turned to face him. "Yes. It means 'what will be,' literally translated. It's a question, I think, so it's not exactly correct, not really. I had to learn Spanish too, you know. Spain taught me," he said, and he smiled-but it was a space cadet smile, the one that made it clear that he was no longer all there.

Arthur faced Alfred. "I knew that song. Once upon a time. I can't recall where I heard it. Can you?" Alfred looked introspective for about three seconds before giving up. "Nope. Nothing. I dunno, I keep getting Doris Day." Arthur snapped his fingers. "That's right! Doris Day!" Alfred snickered. "You would know." Ludwig raised an eyebrow. "Aren't you the one who remembered?" "Yes, but Arthur knew. Anyway, that's the kind of girly song he would know." Arthur rolled his eyes. "You're impossible, you know that?" And he said, "Yes, I know,"

Ludwig glanced at the clock. It was late-not that he was tired, but he didn't want to stay up all night when there was work to be done. His next plan to set in motion was an excuse for leaving, since Alfred rarely accepted 'work' as a reason to do much of anything. He would worry about Feliciano later. Besides, it couldn't be much of an issue, anyway. Couldn't he drive Feliciano to his house? It would be no problem at all. There, that's one thing out of the way.

"Look, guys, I should really be leaving," he said, more to Alfred and Arthur than to Feliciano. Feliciano just shook his head rapidly, like someone trying to wake themselves up. "What? What? We're going?" Ludwig looked at him, somewhat confused. "Yeah, I think it's time for me to go. Would you like a ride home?" Feliciano shook his head, this time as a gesture of defiance. "I'd rather stay at your house. I think Romano is at home, I really don't wanna seehim, see him, not right now anyway." He looked up at Ludwig with pleading eyes. "It's alright, isn't it? I won't stay forever, not like I used to anyway." The question 'where would he sleep' was one he pushed out of his mind. "Okay, I guess that's alright."

He waved goodbye at Alfred and Arthur, who were still sitting on the floor, next to only each other at this point-and Francis's monogrammed pillow, which had been left behind and touched by no one. "Thank you for inviting me. I had a good time," he said, stiffly, in part because it wasn't true, not really. "Hey, no problem, man," said Alfred. Feliciano waved goodbye in a rapid, hyper fashion. "Bye Alfred! Thanks for inviting me! Oh-bye Arthur, it was nice seein'you!" Arthur just nodded politely. Ludwig noticed Feliciano had looped his arm through his own and, smiling once again for a split second, left to go home, secretly happy to not be alone. It was odd how you could be happy for something you could have sworn you didn't want-in his case, company.


	6. Chapter 6: Rum and Coke

When the door slammed shut, Alfred turned to Arthur. "Thank God they're gone, right?" Arthur glanced at him. "What? You're the one hosting this damn thing, why did you even invite them if you didn't want them here?" Alfred just laughed. "I mean, now we're finally alone! Without people being all nosy and stuff. I figured there'd be no way you'd come over to drink unless I had a pretense, so...yeah!" Arthur looked genuinely surprised. "You had this party just for me?" Again, Alfred laughed. "Well, no. I mean, I like alcohol, and let me tell you, some of those guys have some good stuff. So, it was partly you, and partly the fact that I like to drink." "Fascinating," murmured Arthur.

"Say, do you remember that one time we went drinking? When you started crying and sobbing. That was fun." Arthur glared at him. "It was not fun. I was-well, I was certainly drunk, but I was hurt. You know, you can be really dense sometimes." Alfred shrugged, like it didn't matter either way. "Well, I thought it was funny." Arthur rolled his eyes. "You're a special kind of stupid, you know that?" Alfred pretended to be hurt. "That's not nice, Arthur. Words can hurt feelings, you know." He just glared, again. "My point exactly. Glad you see it my way." 'What on earth is he talking about?' thought Alfred to himself. 'He can be so weird.'

Then, after a few minutes, he realized that Arthur was crying. "Dude, are you alright?" he asked, a little afraid. "No, I'm not bloody alright! Do you know something, Alfred? You can be incredibly, well, stupid sometimes! Can't you read a situation? Can't you read people? Of course I know the answer to that question, don't I, now? Because clearly if you could read people, you would know that I l-" He stopped himself. "Well. Nevermind. It, it's not important."

Alfred was confused for a few minutes, until it hit him. A smug smile crept over his face. "You whaat?" he said, stretching out the word 'what'. Arthur turned to him. He had a bewildered look on his face. "I'm sorry?" He looked better, though now his eyes were puffy beyond belief. "I didn't catch what you said before. The part about where you looooovvvveee me. Could you repeat that part? Cause that's the part I didn't catch." Alfred didn't know why he was so happy that Arthur had said that he loved him. Maybe it was because it was kind of like Arthur was admitting that he wasn't nearly as awesome. Yes, that was it. Arthur paled. "What? I-I, I never said that. Ever. More importantly, I never will." But Alfred kept smiling. "Except that you almost did. Didn't you? Admit it, you know it's true! You loooovveee me!" Arthur huffed. "It was the rum talking. It's not like I m-meant it, or anything. Because I don't. So there."

There was silence. Then Arthur spoke. "By the way, is it alright if I stay here tonight? I mean, it's not like I want to, it's just that, I can't drive. You know. The rum." He gestured to the empty bottles. Alfred pretended to consider this. "Oh, come on! Do you want me to die?" exclaimed Arthur. "Be quiet, I'm thinking," said Alfred. Then, his eyes lit up. "Fine. On one condition." "What, do I have to sign a contract or sell my soul, or what?" Alfred just smirked. "No, the condition is you have to sleep with me." "WHAT?" shouted Arthur at the top of his lungs. "In the same bed as me. Right now." Arthur sighed, sounding relieved. "Oh. Well, alright then. I'm not tired, though." "Whatever, just hurry up. Don't keep me waiting!" he said, laughing like it was a game and running up the stairs.

In actuality he didn't know why he had said that. He had like fifty bedrooms, and only two of them were occupied-his, and whichever room Francis had taken-so it wasn't like there was a shortage of space. It was moreso that, for whatever reason, he wanted Arthur to be with him. Maybe it was the alcohol. Yes, that was it.


	7. Chapter 7: Green Tea

Wang was the kind of person who harbored more than a few secrets. It wasn't nessacarily that they were harmful, not always, but just that they were things people didn't really need to know. One was that he could be insufferable when he drank. Another was that he, like most people, suffered from what is routinely called "lowered inhibitions", also when he drank. However, when most people drank, they didn't do things like throw tables at peoples' heads. And, most importantly, they didn't have to deal with people like Ivan.

When Wang woke up the next day, he remembered everything that had happened. He didn't particularly want to, and if he could have had his way, he would have forgotten them in an instant. A feeling of dishonor washed over him instantaneously when he woke up, because everything hit him all at once. 'I envy people who don't remember their actions after drinking', he thought to himself. He would have to deal with Feliciano later, of course. though he recalled that his actions had been shockingly well-received, considering that he had done something pretty shaming. Speaking of shaming-was this his house?

No, of course it wasn't. He sighed. 'For starters, how do I even know that I...did that...with him? Just because I think it happened doesn't mean it did. I could have dreamed it.' He sighed. 'Now I'm thinking like Honda.' That was the last thing he needed. 'Well,' he thought to himself, 'lots of people have one-night stands when they're drunk. And that's probably why I did it. Because I wouldn't have otherwise. No, that's just silly.' Wang smiled. After reassuring himself through what could have been lies, he sighed a bit with relief. Then it occurred to him that the clothes he were wearing were not his own. He looked down at the shirt he was wearing, the one that fit him like a dress. The writing on it was in Russian (of course) and upside down the Cryllic writing looked even more baffling than it did right side up. His Russian was always somewhat rusty regardless of the circumstances, but with a throbbing headache and slightly blurry vision, he decided that whatever was written on the shirt was unimportant for the moment.

Wang rubbed his eyes, as if looking at the bewildering shirt had caused them to see even worse. "Never, never, again, aru." The statement was more to himself than anyone else, and had been whispered more than said, but apparently it had been loud enough to hear, because the door opened and Ivan walked in. "Hello! You're up! You slept well, da?" Wang scowled. "No. Because I was here." Ivan shrugged as if the question had been a formality. "I slept well," he said. "I didn't ask, aru." "Why so harsh?" He didn't seem offended, just confused. "You took advantage of me, aru!" exclaimed Wang at the top of his lungs. "And that's why I wake up with pain everywhere and in a bed that is not my own and a shirt that gives me a headache just glancing at!"

Ivan shook his head. "There isn't a single part of what you just said that is true. Well, except for perhaps the pain. Oh, and that also isn't your bed, or even your shirt, which I suppose explains the headache. So I guess what I am saying is that the part where you claimed I 'took advantage' of you is entirely untrue. While I normally have no problems with going to bed with you, as surely you know." Wang knew he was probably blushing, but said nothing. "However, you were utterly wasted. Even Ivan has his standards." He paused. "Well, not really. But then again, you are a special case." He smiled, which for some reason didn't make Wang shudder as it normally did. How odd.

"Where was I? Oh, yes. I was explaining to you how exactly you ended up at my house." Wang held up a hand. "Save your explanation, aru. I remember. You had to take me home because I hit Feliciano. What I'd like to know is how I ended up...well..." He gestured to Ivan's bed as if that said everything, which in a way it did. But Ivan cocked his head sideways ever so slightly. "You do remember? That's strange. If you remember that, then why don't you remember what happened?"

And that's when the rest of the story became clear. Why he hadn't remembered immediately was beyond him, but now the memory was all too clear. Like a movie, it played in his head. But the movie wasn't of Ivan cajoling him into sleeping with him or using violence or any of the things Wang assumed had occurred. It was of a version of himself that he kept hidden as often as he could, one that the mass consumption of alcohol had brought out. The one who acted like a school girl, the one who did horrible things like flirting, the one who acted, in short, like someone who actually wanted Ivan. Which, of course, was a ridiculous notion within itself.

"This is not good, aru," muttered Wang to himself. "Hey, it's perfectly fine," said Ivan, now sitting next to him on the large double bed. He placed his hand on Wang's shoulder. "Ivan doesn't judge you at all. And that's actually pretty rare, because think of all the people I do judge, da?" Wang couldn't help at the truth in that statement, and he laughed. "I made blini just for you. You probably aren't hungry, but you should eat. You will feel better, da?" Wang nodded. "As long as blini won't kill me," he said, for an unknown reason trusting that it wouldn't, which was odd because he never trusted Ivan. "But please, don't make me drink vodka. If I never look at another glass of alcohol in my life, it will be far too soon, aru," and he shuddered at the prospect. "No, I made green tea. Isn't that the hangover cure over at your house?" Wang nodded. "Then it is settled. I get to keep my vodka and you will feel better. A great start for the day." Ivan smiled to himself (again, Wang was unsettled by the fact that he had forgotten to feel unsettled) and began to leave the room.

"Wait!" Ivan turned around. "Da?" "What on earth does this shirt say? I can't figure it out at all, aru?" Ivan read the shirt, and then laughed. "Ah, yes, now I remember. You went through my drawers because you were cold last night, and that's the one you picked. I didn't see what you had grabbed. That shirt translates roughly to," and he laughed as he said it, "'I Love The Soviet Union'." "Aiyaa! But I don't love the Soviet Union! And you were supposed to get rid of things like this, aru!" Ivan shrugged. "You can keep it if it pleases you." He left the room, without interruption this time, and Wang decided that he would keep it, which surprised even himself.

Just as he was getting up, Ivan opened the door once more. "What now, aru?" asked Wang, but he didn't mean for it to sound as annoyed as it came out. "I forgot to tell you. Honda called you," he said, adding it as an afterthought. "What? Honda called here looking for me?" Ivan nodded, then grinned. "You'll like this. Apparently, he was calling from Heracle's place." Wang laughed. Indeed, he did like it. "I can't explain why, but I find that funny, aru." "Maybe it's because you and Honda are more alike than you think, da?" Wang couldn't believe what he was hearing, or how true it actually could be at times. Ivan closed the door a final time, and as Wang heard a sort of finality in the slamming noise the door made, he decided to get up, without even changing the shirt, because at that exact moment, in a weird way, he sort of did love the Soviet Union.


	8. Chapter 8: Breakfast

When Arthur woke up, he had the vauge feeling that there was something he was forgetting. Upon further reflection, he soon realized that 'something' meant, roughly, 'all of last night'. Lovely.

'This is exactly why I don't drink,' he thought to himself. It was a lie (of course he drank) but normally when he woke up from a night of drinking it didn't really matter if he had any memory of the night before because he was alone and he always woke up in his own bed. While he was pretty sure he was alone, though he didn't move or do anything to verify this, he knew that this was most definitely not his bed.

Of course, he had ben in this bed before, that much he knew. The mattress was incredibly soft and fluffy, the type of bed that inspired laziness simply because one didn't want to leave it. However, his mind was still hazy and his eyes were still staring at the ceiling, so he couldn't quite place where, exactly, he had woken up. The minute he did, he felt a rush of panic, and so he sat upright, immediately scrutinizing his surroundings.

If the (he shuddered a bit at the tackiness) American flag bedspread didn't make it laughably obvious, the fast food wrappers from various places strewn across the room certainly did. Scowling, Arthur got up out of the bed and picked up a small trash can that had been in the corner. 'Why he even owns one is beyond me. Clearly he doesn't use it.' Arthur thought to himself bitterly, picking up the fast food cups, bags, and wrappers. In truth Arthur was just happy to have something to occupy himself with. If he was picking up trash, he didn't have to stop and think about why he had woken up in Alfred's bed in his underwear. It wasn't a notion he particuarly wanted to entertain.

Just then, he heard something, not a noise but a lack of noise, like a sound being silenced. It then occured to him that the not-a-noise was the sound of a shower stopping. 'Oh.' He knew his face was probably showing some sign of embarrassment (even if he wasn't blushing, he knew his face felt warmer than normal) but he decided it didn't matter anyway. After all, it wasn't like he cared about stupid Alfred or his stupid shower or his stupid nak-it was at that moment he saw a Twinkie wrapper poking out from underneath Alfred's bed, and he promptly threw it away.

Then, the bathroom door opened. Steam poured out, and Alfred walked out wearing a towel around his waist. Arthur tried to keep his voice at a disinterested monotone. "Would you mind terribly putting some clothes on?" Alfred grinned at him. "Well, good morning to you too, sunshine. I was planning on it, actually. You looked like you were undressing me with your eyes." Ignoring his use of the petname 'sunshine', which he found annoying, Arthur just gave him a _look. _"As if I would need to, it's not as if you're putting any effort into covering yourself. I mean really, you're already half naked." "So you noticed," he replied with a light laugh. Arthur rolled his eyes. "Yes, I noticed what was obvious. I'm such a pervert," he said dryly.

After he was dressed, and after Arthur hadn't looked (okay, fine he had once, but that was an accident...or unless you counted the second time, but that was an accident too, and anyway it was irrelevant because he would have denied looking at all) Alfred glanced around the room.

"Really? It's this early and already you're already _cleaning _stuff? Well, aren't you Mr. Domestic?" Arthur turned his head away from Alfred and huffed. "It's the only way I can fill the void that is my memory. Of last night," he added, to be specific. Alfred arched his eyebrows high. "You mean you really don't remember?" Arthur nodded. "You know how I get when I drink."

"No, I don't," he said. "Well, I do, but that's no thanks to you." Arthur was geniunely confused. "Just what are you insinuating?" For some reason he felt defensive. "We haven't been out drinking since forever," replied Alfred. Arthur could swear he detected sadness in his voice, or at least a slight feeling of regret. "'Course, the last time we did you got all emotional and stuff. Crying and whatnot," he said, with a laugh. "Look, just tell me what happened last night and I'll be more than happy to leave and go back to my place, where it is clean and you aren't there."

Alfred smiled. "I'm not going to tell you anything unless you're good." "And just what is that supposed to mean?" Alfred smiled again, though this time it seemed more like a smirk. "It means, 'stop yelling and be nice to me because otherwise you'll never know what happened last night.' Ever. And it's good, too." Arthur sighed. Alfred's definition of good sounded downright frightening. It would be beneficial to sacrifice biting sarcasm in exchange for valuable information, he decided.

"Fair enough," he said. "Please tell me how I may or may not have utterly shamed myself last night," and he hoped that Alfred would think it was a joke. "Oh, fine, I'll tell you. But only because you're so cute when you're all submissive like that." Arthur clenched his jaw, but said nothing, trying his hardest not to think of the implications that word had, and just which of them Alfred meant.

Alfred sat down on the bed, resting his head on the incredibly fluffy pillow (the one that was navy blue and adorned with stars-also known as the pillow made on the day class died as far as Arthur was concerned). "Come sit by me," he said, patting the spot next to him. "Bite me," replied Arthur stiffly. "Do you really want me to respond to that?" Arthur decided he didn't and obliged, his head sinking into the pillow. "You're just lucky that my memory is awesome and doesn't suck like yours does." Arthur opened his mouth to speak, but didn't say anything.

"Yesterday, I hosted an amazing drinking party. It was so great, it's really a shame you don't remember it." Arthur rolled his eyes but continued to stay quiet. "Well, everyone was having a great time, except for you because you are grumpy, until Matty drank some of Ivan's vodka." Arthur turned to face Alfred. "He did _what_?" Alfred just nodded. "Yeah, and the stuff made him pass out. Francis was the last one to see him." As much as Arthur wanted to make sure that Matthew wasn't dead or worse, he wanted to first make sure that he hadn't done anything too shaming, so he said nothing. 'Go on,' he silently prompted.

"After that, Honda got incredibly drunk and left. I know he's okay, though. He called me stuff." He laughed. "As if I care. I thought it was hilarious."

"Then Wang went bonkers, also 'cause he was drunk, and hit Feliciano with my table. It didn't hurt him though, or the table, so that was good. But I bet if Ivan hadn't been there, _Wang_ would have been hurt. Ludwig looked pretty pissed. Wang hasn't called or anything, but Ivan took him to his place so he's probably okay." 'Define okay,' thought Arthur. "Let's see, after that Ludwig and Feliciano left, bla bla bla.." His eyes lit up. "Now it gets good!" "Oh, boy," replied Arthur.

"So we were all alone and drunk as hell. Well, I was drunk as hell. I couldn't tell how drunk you were, but I'm thinking you were pretty wasted, too. You almost said you loved me, but stopped yourself. Whatever, I say it counts." Arthur tried to interrupt in indignation, but Alfred placed his hand over his mouth. "Hang on, it's getting good. You can deny your delcaration of love later. So, then I told you that you had to sleep in the same bed as me. Which, I'm not sure why you bought it without any of your typical 'no I don't want to you can't make me' stuff, but you did. So that worked out well."

"We were going to do something or other, but I really can't remember what it is and I know I don't care. Then we started making out and-oh, you'll never believe this-you said you wanted to film it, right? And of course that sounds like an awesome idea to me, so you go and get this old camera from my closet, and we had the best drunk sex ever! The end." He smiled broadly, then appeared thoughtful. "I wonder if McDonalds is still serving breakfast," he mutterred.

Arthur was still speechless. "I...what? I'm sorry, but _what? _You, you engaged me while I was drunk and couldn't say no?" Alfred turned to face him. "What? Oh, no. No, that's totally wrong. Remember, I was drunk too, if I had been sober I totally would have turned you down." Arthur gave him a _look _again. "Turned me down? What exactly is that supposed to mean?" "Well, I probably would have just gone to sleep, but you were the one who was giving me way more hugs than you usually do and kissing my neck and rubbing my butt!" Arthur winced. "I didn't. No. I couldn't have..at least, I hope for the sake of my dignity that I didn't." He knew that he had the tendency to be a bit, well, licentious when he was under the influence, but he didn't know he was _that _bad.

"Well you did. 'Course, I didn't mind or anything, I'm just saying I'm not this big creep who wanted to get you drunk so I could get into your pants." He paused, then continued. "Then again, I get into your pants on a regular basis so I guess that would be pretty stupid, huh? But seriously. I don't want you thinking I'm this huge pervert or anything." At this point, Arthur really wasn't sure what to be offended at. There was just so much to choose from.

"So, let me get this straight. I asked you to film us? No, no that doesn't sound right at all. You know how I feel about concrete evidence." Alfred shrugged. "Yeah, that's basically the only thing I can't remember. I know you had this specific reason you wanted to get the camera out. But I can't remember what it was." He sighed. "Isn't that a pity? 'Cause, like, if I knew what the reason was, I could use it against you in the future!" His grin was crossing the line between charming and cheesy. No, actually it was just cheesy.

"I don't know. That is an odd thing for me to do. As I said, I hate the way I look on film on a normal basis. Why on Earth would I insist upon using a camera?" In truth, Arthur had always found people who filmed themselves doing anything to be narcisistic. As if videos of them doing mundane activities were going to impress anyone. Furthermore, he was sure that he would die if anyone had footage of him and Alfred doing God-knows-what.

"Care to find out?" asked Alfred, gesticulating towards the televison, where the camera was plugged in. "Fine," he said mildly. "I'm turning it off the second I get even an iota of a clue as to why I did this." By now he was incredibly curious. He mentally cursed his inability to retain information after a good drinking binge.

Alfred turned on the televison and set it to the right channel until a badly lit video came into focus. 'Oh God, I look terrible,' thought Arthur, and in point of fact, he did-but so did Alfred, the bed, the various decorations, even the food wrappers. The video quality was downright shaming. One had to squint to make out details. Luckily, the audio was less shabby.

The Arthur on TV sat down on the bed, only to be practically tackled by the Alfred on TV. To see himself kissing on film was incredibly embarrasing, especially since it was Alfred. The laughably bad quality made it easy to pretend that they weren't kissing, but the audio was more challenging in that regard. He thought it would never end, or perhaps worse, it would end, but only for something much worse to transpire. But after a few minutes, they stopped. 'Thank God,' thought Arthur. "Thanks for..you know, letting me do this and stuff," said the TV-Arthur. His words weren't slurred as badly as they could have been, but they weren't nearly as lucid and clear as they were when he was sober. TV-Alfred laughed. "I've always wanted to! You know that. So that when all of my friends ask me if I've been getting any, I can tell 'em, and when they don't believe me, I'll show 'em this." His words were less intelligible, but Arthur could understand them fine. 'And what a shame,' he thought.

"Thing is," said TV-Arthur, "I never remember a blasted thing after I drink. Did you know that?" It occured to him that the amount of British slang he used seemed to be directly proportional to the amount of alcohol he had consumed. TV-Alfred shook his head 'no'-or, it could have been 'yes'. The video quality wasn't good enough for there to be a visible difference. "Well, in the morning I won't remember any of this. And of course I'll be all pissy waking up in my knickers," he said, a slight giggle at the end of his voice. "Pissy? Really? I did not just say that," said Arthur. In fact he was more concerned with how well he knew himself when he was drunk. "No, you didn't just say it, you said it about eight hours ago. Now be quiet, I want to watch," said Alfred, putting his finger against Arthur's lips. The conversation on film continued. "So I want us to film this. And I want you to show it to me, and then I'll remember. And I will be as happy as I am right now. That's how I'll be then. Even if I act angry."

Arthur hurried up off the bed and turned off the TV. To his chagrin, he _did _feel happy, and resented the insight his drunken self had had, but to hell if he was going to admit it. Alfred arched his eyebrows at him. Now it was him giving him a _look. _"If I were you, I wouldn't be so, well, naive. I mean, now you're taking the words of a drunk man and accepting them as truth," said Arthur, trying to keep his voice icy. It wasn't too hard. He had practice. "But the drunk man was you," said Alfred, somewhat quietly. "Even so," replied Arthur, no longer interested in continuing the conversation. He still had a hangover and was beginning to develop a headache in addition to the aches he already felt.

"I don't know," said Alfred in a rather annoying sing-song tone of voice, "I really think that you when you're totally wasted is about a million times more awesome than when you're sober," Arthur glared at him. "As much as your input on when you prefer me fascinates me, I really do think I should put my clothes on get leaving. You know, pretending I never did this, all of the things I do after I visit you," Alfred fake-pouted. "You mean you really weren't happy to be here?"

_'Of course I was, you idiot,' _he thought to himself. _'Why wouldn't I be? If I didn't want to be here, maybe I just wouldn't go at all.' _"I don't know if I am or not. I haven't decided. Maybe if you weren't so annoying I would give you a straight answer," Alfred just grinned. He always smiled in the mornings. Arthur never understood this at all, since he himself was no morning person. "Well, I was happy to have you here," he said, and Arthur thought for a split second he was being serious. "Right, well, I have a hangover in the worst way, so if you could administer whatever your hangover cure happens to be, I would love you forever," He hadn't meant to say it. It had meant to sound blase, and it did, but that didn't change the fact the words had been said.

"No, no, not like that, you git, you don't even-" and he couldn't even get out a sentence. "Ha! I knew it! I knew you loved me!" "I said I _would _love you. Maybe. If you can get rid of my hangover." Alfred pretended to ponder this. "Want a Bloody Mary?" _'Is he serious?' _"You idiot, how is alcohol going to quell my alcohol poisoning?" Alfred smiled. "It'll get you back on the horse. I already had one. It's why I'm so happy." Arthur rolled his eyes. "Fine, I'll get you an asprin," he said, opening the door to the bathroom and rooting around in the medicine cabinent. Arthur knew he was screwed when he heard, "Oops! Oh well. Sucks to be you, Arthur!"

"What now?" He was genuinely worried, but it turned out that he had no reason to be, not really. "No aspirin to be found. Sorry, man," he said, holding an empty container of aspirin in his hand, before throwing it at the trash can. It bounced off the side and landed on the floor. "Ha," said Arthur, not really meaning it one way or the other, only making a monosyllabic comment about Alfred's bad aim for his own amusement. "Oh, Arthur, what _can _I do to get into your good graces?" asked Alfred in a mock Southern belle accent. "Kill me," he replied in a monotone. Alfred winced. "Is your hangover that bad?" he asked, laying down again on the bed. "Yes," he replied, pacing around the room.

After about five minutes of silence (during which Arthur had thrown away the aspirin box as well as cleaned a bit of miscellaneous trash he had missed earlier) Alfred spoke. "Fine," he said. "Fine what?" asked Arthur. "Fine, I know how to cure your hangover," Now Arthur was curious. He didn't actually believe that it would work, but nonetheless his interest was piqued. "Then why haven't you cured your own hangover?" he asked incredously. "Maybe I did," Alfred countered, and Arthur decided this conversation was no longer worth having. "Just make it quick," he said.

It was then he realized he was still in his underwear. That was embarrassing. He picked up his shirt he had worn yesterday and put it on. "Do you know where I put my pants?" Alfred shook his head. "No, and I really don't care. Come on, it's not important, get over here if you want to cure your hangover." Suddenly, a thought occured to Arthur. "Oh, no. No. You had better cure my hangover, don't you dare try anything, you hear me?" Alfred smiled. "It's not funny at all, you paranoid freak, now get your ass over here," and for whatever reason Arthur obliged. He sat in the middle of the bed.

"Ok, now close your eyes." No. This was much too similar to what had occured to him a minute ago. "No way," he said. "I don't trust you at all," Arthur shrugged. "Fine. Enjoy your hangover. Personally, I think you look funny with bloodshot eyes, so trust me, I was just trying to be nice." "Fine." Arthur closed his eyes.

Alfred's hands were on his shoulders. "If you hurt me, I swear to God, I'll-" Alfred interrupted him. "It's not going to hurt, you dumb ass. Now shut up or it isn't going to work." If Arthur was right (and knowing how predictable Alfred could be, it was incredibly likely he was right) this wasn't going to cure anything and...

Arthur was on his back. How had that happened? This was what happened when you were too introspective, he decided. _'Yep, see, now we're kissing,' _he thought. _'I knew it, I knew it, I swear he's so predictable it hurts,' _but in actuality he had ceased to care and was already kissing back, because that was what always happened. He would later tell himself he only enjoyed kissing Alfred so much because it kept his mouth occupied. He didn't know the real reason, but he knew that it had only cured his hangover in the sense that he didn't care about his headache. Close enough.


End file.
